Hark how the tremulous night-wind is passing in joy-laden sighs; 
Soft through my window it comes, like the fanning of pinions angelic, 
   Whispering to cease from myself, and look out on the infinite skies. 

Out on the orb-studded night, and the crescent effulgence of Dian; 
   Out on the far-gleaming star-dust that marks where the angels have trod; 
Out on the gem-pointed Cross, and the glittering pomp of Orion, 
   Flaming in measureless azure, the coronal jewels of God; 

Luminous streams of delight in the silent immensity flowing, 
   Journeying surgelessly on through impalpable ethers of peace. 
How can I think of myself when infinitude o'er me is glowing, 
   Glowing with tokens of love from the land where my sorrows shall cease? 

Oh, summer-night of the South! Oh, sweet languor of zephyrs love-sighing! 
   Oh, mighty circuit of shadowy solitude, holy and still! 
Music scarce audible, echo-less harmony joyously dying, 
   Dying in faint suspirations o'er meadow, and forest, and hill! 

I must go forth and be part of it, part of the night and its gladness. 
   But a few steps, and I pause on the marge of the shining lagoon. 
Here then, at length, I have rest; and I lay down my burden of sadness, 
   Kneeling alone 'neath the stars and the silvery arc of the moon.